How the mighty will fall
by Yessica-N
Summary: Sometimes, you just can't have a happy ending. OR: Papyrus is sick and can't be fixed.
1. Denial

**Oh hey look, more angsty vent writing. TW: Character Death, Terminal Illness, Suicidal Ideation, Lots of sads,...**

* * *

 _\- Denial is the worst form of truth -_

* * *

It has already been 174 nights. Papyrus crosses them out as soon as he wakes up, with the big red marker he got at the store the other day.

It has been going well, he thinks. It has all been going well.

Maybe that's the thing that should have tipped him off. When have things ever gone well for them before?

* * *

It's not a sudden thing, but more like slipping into quicksand. Something that happens so slowly, you don't even notice it is happening at all until your breathing gets labored and you wonder why your feet feel so wet.

That's how it goes for him too.

Papyrus has a multitude of things he does on the surface: jobs and hobbies and volunteering.

He is of the opinion that, since he'll never know how long it will last, he might as well do the most he can.

Besides, he desperately craves the distractions. Sans is home even less than he was when they were underground and Papyrus can't stand the silence of their surface house. Can't stand the sound of rain against their roof or cars speeding by outside.

He thinks he'll probably never get used to it. He doesn't belong here.

But it's easy to push that aside when he sees Sans smile or Frisk bounding through the room all excited to show him something.

It's not so hard when they're there.

It _is_ hard to see properly, lately. That's how it starts.

Papyrus would say his vision has always been a sore point at best, but he's never had black spots before. Or a fuzziness so profound he walks straight into the doorpost.

Luckily nobody was home to witness that. The Great Papyrus wasn't quite as Great, then.

He is tired a lot too.

Again, his sleeping rhythm hasn't improved any since coming to the surface, so he doesn't notice it at first. He's still awake in the middle of the night, staring at the ceiling and pacing his room.

But now it's a more intense thing, something that settles inside him and clings. A light-headedness that reminds him of starvation. It drives him to eat more, an accomplishment he's almost proud enough of to tell Sans, before he remembers he never tells Sans anything.

There's not really any reason to start now.

* * *

Two more weeks of this, of walking around as if his head isn't attached to his body, a feeling he's eerily familiar with, before Papyrus starts falling apart.

He touches his desk and dust gets left behind. Little gray spots of him that break off his fingers.

It doesn't hurt, he thinks.

Or maybe he's just so accustomed to pain he doesn't feel it anymore.

* * *

He debates for a long time on who to tell, if he should even tells anyone at all.

He considers Undyne and Sans and Asgore. He considers Toriel and Frisk.

But in the end, Papyrus knows there's just one person he can trust with this.

* * *

Alphys always looks nervous and jumpy and so, so fragile, it makes him anxious in turn.

Like it is actually her that's falling apart, and not him.

She looks serious now, pale and tired and not shaking anymore. Her voice is firm, as if she is handing out a death sentence.

Which is exactly what she is doing.

Papyrus isn't as shocked as he thought he would be. Maybe because somewhere deep inside his soul already knew it was dying.

It has happened so many times before, you can't be surprised if it recognizes the sensation.

Alphys explains what is happening to him in great detail, with fancy charts and an abundance of apologies, like somehow this is all her fault. As if he would blame her for not being able to fix this.

She has never been able to fix anything, she says, before she breaks down crying.

Papyrus holds her and nods, because if he talks now, he'll break too.

* * *

There is something almost poetic about dying in slow-motion. It gives you a lot of time to think about your life.

Papyrus doesn't want to tell anybody.

He always knew when he would die, a lot of different times over, and never told anyone. He doesn't see why that should change now.

You don't alter a winning formula.

* * *

He's not sick. He's just finished.

He's not dying. He's just done.

He's not leaving. He's just going away for a little bit.

A fun little vacation, if you will.

Alphys looks at him as if he has gone insane, as if he already has fallen down. It's a bitter feeling, but Papyrus likes it.

She tells him he can't ignore this. She tells him this is not the same as all the other times. She says he won't be coming back this time.

For some reason this makes him even happier. Like those are the words he has been waiting to hear all his live, and now they're finally here. An immense relieve.

He almost can't wait.

Papyrus doesn't tell Alphys this though. Telling people you can't wait to meet death is a not-so-good thing, or so Undyne's reaction to those exact words has convinced him a few timelines ago.

* * *

In the end, he agrees to tell them. He agrees to tell them all, but Sans.

Alphys pleads and tries to change his mind with a lot of arguments based on trust between brothers.

Papyrus does laugh a little bit at that and shakes his head.

He makes it easier for himself by telling them all at once. He has them promise to not tell Sans about anything before he starts, makes them swear it, and even then.

They've lied to him so much before.

Toriel cries and Asgore nods and Undyne breaks a table over her knee. She yells a lot, enough for everybody else, who are mostly just quiet.

The human stares at them with the blank expression he remembers them wearing when they are unsure of what to say or do.

Then Asgore stands up and hugs him and tells him how sorry he is.

Papyrus says he's not sorry at all.

He says this isn't a bad thing.

And he doesn't get why nobody believes that.


	2. Anger

_\- Anger is just one letter short of Danger -_

* * *

He can't say their reaction surprises him, but maybe the intensity does.

He had guessed Undyne would be angry, but not that she would slam her fist into the wall until it was bleeding. He had guessed Alphys would grief, but not that she would grasp his arm begging to let her try to fix him. He had guessed that Asgore would mourn, but not that he would act like he was losing a child all over again.

Not so forgettable after all, was he?

Telling them he doesn't want to be helped is the easiest thing he has ever done.

Undyne storms out of the room and bangs the door so hard everybody flinches. Papyrus isn't sure if she's mad at him or at the world in general, but he supposes it doesn't matter.

* * *

For the first 24 hours, it's like waiting with bathed breathe. He's not sure what he is expecting to happen. Maybe Sans will storm in with a rage to match Undyne's and yell at him that he is being an idiot, like he sometimes did when they were younger. Maybe Sans will hold him and cry and beg him to stay, as if this somehow is a conscious decision. Maybe Sans will fall to his knees and apologize for everything and nothing.

But when an entire day has passed and Sans leaves for the university with a stray greeting between the coffee and oatmeal, Papyrus knows he doesn't know.

Funny how his friends _can_ keep their promises, when it really matters.

* * *

He can't really remember if Undyne and him have ever fought before. Not the petty spaghetti arguments they sometimes get into, but this. There's a first for everything, they say.

She comes to him and yells. She yells while tears stream down her face, looking almost as upset as when Alphys dies, and somewhere Papyrus thinks he should be honored.

He feels vaguely annoyed instead.

Then she takes hold of his wrist and tries to physically drag him out of the house. She tells him that if he's too stubborn to do something about this, she will just have to make him.

He hurts her then. There really is a first for everything.

She looks so shocked Papyrus almost laughs, biting his tongue to keep from saying something. Not so helpless now, is he?

Undyne says that she is never coming back. Papyrus isn't sure if he wants her to.

* * *

She does come back, barely two hours later. She brings Alphys with her and they sit him down on the couch.

They both talk for a long, long time while Papyrus stares at the wall and thinks about what to make for dinner.

Maybe he'll try pasta carbonara. He read about it in a cooking magazine yesterday, and it sounds like fun.

Alphys asks him if he's listening and he lies, saying that he is.

They are showing him even more charts, probably more than they really need to convince him, were that possible.

It isn't.

Then Undyne yells some more, while Alphys wrings her hands, looking like she rather be anywhere but here, and Papyrus feels bad for her.

Undyne is mad at him for not trying and at Sans for not noticing and at Alphys for not fixing him.

She's mad at herself for failing them all.

"Being angry won't change anything." He says, a lesson he learned too long ago to recall and Undyne stares at him in turn.

She cries instead, and once she starts, Alphys starts too and then they're just all three sobbing and then laughing at how silly they must look.

Together they decide they're angry at the world instead.

* * *

Toriel invites him over and Papyrus has never seen anyone bake a pie quite so aggressively. She has a stern look, that probably works on children.

But Papyrus isn't a child.

She wants to know the real reason why he doesn't want to try and he tells her, because it matters little anymore.

Her eyes get cold, colder than he thought possible for her.

"Do you think that's fair to us." Toriel says, and she wipes his dust of her table.

"No." Papyrus knows. "But the world isn't fair."

His best friend thought him that.

She doesn't say anything anymore and Papyrus leaves without finishing his pie.

It doesn't taste as good as it normally does anyway.

* * *

Asgore is the only one who isn't angry, the only one who understands.

He has been tired for a very long time as well, he says.

"I know I'm hurting everyone." Papyrus tells him, siting amidst a bed of purple flowers. He prefers the golden ones.

Frisk comes and sits next to them. They hold Papyrus's hand and don't mind all the dust that covers their fingers.

Papyrus feels that he should cry, but he doesn't have any tears left. Something burns in his chest that might be sadness but it hurts much more.

He is angry.

Angry, because he is hurting his friends and this isn't fair to any of them and he can't give them what they want and being angry doesn't fix anything.

He is angry at himself for being like this.

Frisk's hair smells like chocolate and Papyrus wonders why he never noticed that before.

* * *

 **my tumblr: sharada-n**


	3. Bargaining

_\- Sacrifice is a form of bargaining -_

* * *

Frisk pulls him aside a few days later, when all of them are gathered at Toriel's for pizza Friday.

Their room is small, overflowing with toys, but neat and Frisk makes him sit on their bed, between the stuffed animals.

They stare at each other for the longest time. The human isn't one for words and Papyrus isn't anymore either, now that he has stopped pretending. There's nothing left to say.

Then, they ask very quietly if he wants them to reset the timeline.

Before he can even react there are tears in their eyes and Papyrus realizes he hasn't seen them cry, not even once, in those past few weeks.

Their body shakes with sobs and he becomes suddenly aware of how small they are.

Frisk tells him about their vow. The vow made on a mountain bathed in sunlight and laughter. The vow to never do it over again. The vow that isn't meant to be broken.

They ask Papyrus if they can break it now, please?

He doesn't even need to think twice about the answer.

* * *

Determination is a silly thing. Papyrus always thought it was something to be admired, when it was still just the power to get up after falling down.

Now he can see it for what it is. A stubbornness bordering on insanity.

He's staring at charts again, Papyrus sure is seeing a lot of those in his final weeks, and Alphys looks about as apologetic as she can, given the circumstances. She doesn't want to be here any more than he does.

Frisk is pointing out various brightly colored lines and telling him about anomalies and changes in the timelines and Papyrus can see they're grasping at straws.

They're telling him he doesn't need to die. They're telling him it might be different, if they just try again. And again. And again...

Frisk never stops trying. They _all_ found that out the hard way.

Papyrus says he wouldn't want things any other way.

With wide eyes, they demand to know why anyone would just give up on themselves like that.

He asks them why they climbed that mountain.

Nothing more is said after that.

* * *

The next day, Frisk brings a book. Papyrus thinks they want to have another shot at changing his mind, but it's something else.

He's confused at first, about what buckets have to do with anything?

Then he gets it.

He starts that night, using a stray old notebook and the marker he used for his calendar.

It has become pretty hard to write, when parts if his fingers are all but broken off. They still heal now, but Alphys assures him that won't last.

Sans doesn't question why he's always wearing gloves, at least.

* * *

He's done after just one evening of work.

He shows Frisk what he wrote, all the stuff he thought of, but after reading it they frown and hand it back.

They tell him a bucket list should be about all the things he wants to do before dying that would make _him_ happy, not things that make Sans happy.

Papyrus doesn't point out that he doesn't see the difference.

* * *

It's dark, the middle of the night. The engine makes an unpleasant sound and Papyrus isn't sure if this is good for the car at all, but he doesn't care. He won't be driving it much anymore.

The highway is completely empty, just like he wrote on his list. There are no speed limits here.

Undyne is there, but only because everybody agreed it wouldn't be smart to let him go alone. Papyrus wonders if they think he will fling himself against a tree or something.

He's dying already, it wouldn't matter.

* * *

He's is standing next to Sans in a room that is barely lit. Some narrator is droning on in the background about moon landings and the possibility of terrestrial life. There is a large screen, larger than the screens Mettaton used to have even, displaying white and yellow dots in a vast darkness.

Papyrus isn't looking at it. He's looking at Sans, looking at it. At the little widening of his eye sockets and his amazed grin. When they show what a supernova looks like, Sans grips his arm in excitement.

Afterwards, he takes out a map and drags Papyrus around the museum, talking more than he has in longer than Papyrus cares to remember.

He'll miss hearing his brother's voice.

* * *

Afterwards, they're sitting on a blanket in their garden. The stars are bright tonight and Sans points them out, naming them just like the guide's voice had done back at the show.

He leans against Papyrus, no warmth shared between them, and wonders out loud how long the lights they're seeing have faded from the skies.

A very, very long time, they both agree.

Then Sans turns to him. "So, bro, what made you change your mind?"

"Change my mind about what?" Papyrus stretches his legs, feeling his feet crumble to dust a bit more.

"About going to the space museum? We were going to go in spring, when they opened that new exhibit. With the real rocket." His voice is laced with wonder as he speaks.

Lying to Sans has never been easier. "Just a fancy... You can still go see that rocket, if you want."

Sans says that's a stellar idea, and Papyrus groans at the pun, as is expected of him, pushing back against his brother.

This is probably the only thing he will miss, and it takes a lot not to say so out loud.


	4. Depression

_\- Depression is not a sign of weakness, but of strength -_

* * *

He knows it's nearly time.

So he cleans his room and makes an inventory of all his stuff. It's almost therapeutic, if it weren't for the fact that he's constantly sweeping off his own dust every time he touches something.

Papyrus thinks long and hard about who to give what to. He knows Undyne would enjoy his cool race car bed and Alphys adores his many action figures. He can give most of his Mettaton merchandise to Frisk, who has become quite the avid fan over time. His books should probably go to the king or queen.

But he doesn't know what to give Sans.

Except maybe an apology.

* * *

Undyne invites him over for one, final cooking lesson.

They haven't been together with just the two of them for a long while without there being either angry yelling or awkward silence, and Papyrus almost doesn't want to go.

But after everything that he has done to her, he knows he can't deny her this.

So he goes and they sit and drink tea that Papyrus thinks is too sweet, but he doesn't complain.

Then they cook, exactly like they did countless times before, but nothing explodes for once, and he's unsure whether he should be relieved or disappointed.

Melancholy is strange like that.

The spaghetti tastes horrible anyway and they dump it out the window, steam rising up to fog over the glass as Undyne sits behind her piano and plays for him.

Papyrus brought his violin, but his hands are too far gone for him to decently play it anymore.

"Then why did you bring it?" Undyne asks, playing something she's never played before. He wants to ask her if she composed it for him but is too scared to know the answer.

"Because I always do." He answers.

She laughs and tells him how silly that is while her voice cracks with grief. She'll miss that, she says, his silliness, picking up that same tune again and Papyrus can tell she made it for him.

He hopes it will bring her comfort once he is gone.

* * *

He's marking his calendar again, but this time he's counting down instead of up. He's not nearly as nervous as he thought he would be.

He's not nearly as excited either.

He's just empty.

* * *

Sans asks him to go to town with him, and he can't say no. Even if it has become almost unbearable to walk and talk and smile.

They meander past polished windows, looking at model cars and little plastic rockets while Sans makes jokes and Papyrus tries not to fall down.

They get ice-cream because it reminds them of Snowdin, of home, and sit on a bench to eat, laughing at the weird stares of humans still unaccustomed to their existence.

"When have we stopped doing these kind of things together?" Sans wants to know, and Papyrus doesn't have an answer.

He simply can't remember.

The wind blows strongly as they walk home, so Papyrus makes sure to remember Sans to zip up his hoodie.

He wonders who will take care of Sans like this after he's gone.

* * *

With a bit of effort, he can almost forget what loneliness felt like.

He has been trying for so long, who knew that all he needed to do to get some damn attention, was die properly.

* * *

Apparently there is a list of movies everyone should see before they die. Alphys shows him, and then they sit down to marathon them. She assures him she narrowed them down to 'only the really good ones' and Papyrus doesn't ask why they're all animated.

She asks him if it hurts a lot and he tells her the truth.

Then Undyne joins and Frisk happens to come and visit and Sans arrives home early and they all just keep watching.

It's probably the longest movie night they will ever have, and Papyrus is glad he was still around to join it.

* * *

He writes a note, he writes several notes, but the words are lacking so he throws them out. Frisk offers to lend him a camera, but Papyrus says it wouldn't feel right.

Silence almost seems a preferable option, but he knows that would be beyond cruel.

There has been enough left unsaid between the two of them.

This can't be yet another thing they take to their graves.

* * *

It's Asgore who actually comes up with the idea. Summer is fading fast, probably faster than Papyrus is at this point. It makes sense to take advantage of the last few days of warmth and sunshine.

Toriel bakes a pie and Undyne brings the blankets and Papyrus gets to drive them all.

It's a beautiful day outside, birds are singing and flowers are blooming. On days like these, it almost makes sense to die.

They sit in the shade of trees barely starting to change color and count butterflies. Frisk shows them all how they can skip a rock on the lake up to three times, impressing everyone.

Sans asks Papyrus what he wants for his birthday, since that will be coming up in just a few more weeks.

"This." He says. "I want this to last forever."

His brother laughs, as if it was a joke, so he laughs too.

* * *

Frisk has brought a camera and asks if they should take a picture. It's one of those fancy ones that can take photos all on its own, without anyone pressing the button. Papyrus got it for them at the beginning of summer.

They huddle together, Frisk wants to sit on his lap and Papyrus lets them. Sans lays one hand on his shoulder, like when he was little. Despite the sun, he feels colder than ever before.

But he smiles, calling on years of faking happiness to come across as genuine now. The Great Papyrus wouldn't want any less for his final photograph.

At least a little piece of them together like this will last forever.


	5. Acceptance

**Thank you for all the lovely comments...**

* * *

 _-Acceptance can heal anything -_

* * *

When Papyrus overhears them talking about what item to use in the dust ceremony, he knows they are ready. It's a bit sooner than he expected, and it makes him both glad and bitter.

Everybody goes over to Grillby's that evening. They drink and they laugh and make jokes that weren't any good underground, but now feel even staler.

It takes a lot to keep his voice steady as he embraces his brother one last time. Barely sober, Sans asks him what the occasion is.

"Just, because I love you." Papyrus says softly, so only the two of them can hear.

"I know you do." Sans laughs, and Papyrus really hopes he does.

Then he slips out, quietly, leaving the warmth and laughter behind him, as invisible as he ever has been.

* * *

He doesn't drive his car, because that would be stupid. There would be nobody to drive it back. Instead, he walks, knowing nobody will notice he's gone or follow him.

He even stopped at home to put on his battle body again. It was designed for him to die in, after all, and he has before. Might as well make it one last time.

It takes a lot to climb the mountain, and he thinks of Frisk as he does so. Thinks of a small child with a worn out soul and determined eyes, who is done with everything the world has to offer them.

Papyrus can relate to that.

* * *

It feels strange, unnatural. Like he is going against the tide.

Through the ruins of new home, even more forsaken than they used to be. He stares at the throne he once used to sit, but shall never have to again.

Past Hotland and Waterfall and Snowdin, trailing dust behind him much like the human once did.

He almost goes straight back home, a force of habit maybe, but the lights are out and the streets of the town oddly deserted. He has never been here before like this, he thinks.

The old stone door is open a crack, like the queen left in a hurry. Papyrus walks until he literally can't walk any further.

* * *

The flowers bend beneath his weight, as yellow as they have ever been, and Papyrus sighs, staring at the cracked cavern ceiling above him.

There's some light that comes through, just enough to see the petals of gold surrounding him, and the stars up above. Real stars against a jet black sky.

He lies down because sitting takes too much effort, and his feet are gone for good now, broken off on the way here.

A definite reminder that he can't go back.

He closes his eyes, wanting to make time pass faster.

"You came back?" That familiar voice asks and Papyrus tries hard not to smile, because it hurts a bit too much by now. But he knows he's grinning anyway.

"Naturally."

Flowey touches him and he breaks more, dried clay falling to pieces. Just like old times. The flower frowns and if Papyrus didn't know any better he would say his friend is dismayed.

"You are dying." Flowey says, voice as uninterested as ever. "Why did you come back if you are dying anyway?"

Papyrus wonders if he should tell. If he should try and explain to this soulless being that he doesn't want to die away from home. Doesn't want to die and have his dust be scattered on something else than these flowers. Doesn't want to die admits a bunch of people that don't even know what his favorite food is.

That he doesn't want to die anywhere but right here.

"I missed you." He says instead. "It gets a bit lonely up there without my best friend."

Flowey scoffs. "Good. I didn't miss you at all." and Papyrus can tell he is lying.

They're silent, with only the sound of brittle bone turning to dust to keep them company.

"Is it really that great?" Flowey asks eventually, an edge of curiosity Papyrus always liked seeing in him marring his voice. "The surface, I mean. Is it really all that you idiots thought it would be?"

He ponders the answer carefully, but there's only one real response. "It's wonderful."

He thinks of the sunshine and the books and the cars and the house with the giant tv screens and comfy seats you can go to when you want to see a movie. He thinks of the ice cream he had with Sans and the last time he held Frisk's hands.

Suddenly he's crying.

"It's really, really wonderful." He says, thinking about how unfair it is.

How unfair it is that there are all those wonderful things out there in the world, and Papyrus is simply too tired to enjoy them.

"I bet it was." Flowey shushes him gently, and Papyrus can't tell if he is holding him, he can't feel his body anymore, but he likes to think that he is.

"I'm sorry." He gets out between the sobs, even though he isn't. Everything is so cold all of the sudden, so empty. He wishes Sans was here.

"It's fine." Flowey is so close it hurts, everything hurts. Things are a lot darker now, just stars above him and gold around him. He doesn't have legs any more.

"I'm scared." He whispers, almost hoping Flowey won't hear him.

But of course he does. "It's fine." He repeats. "It's not that bad, trust me. It won't hurt for long now." The experience in his voice is almost more painful than the turning to dust is and Papyrus sighs, feeling like his breath has left forever.

"It's really cruel of you, you know?" Flowey murmurs, somewhere between annoyance and sorrow. "It happened exactly in this place too."

Papyrus hums and closes his eyes again, too tired to keep them open. He can tell it won't be long now. Nothing matters anymore.

"This is the second time I have to watch my best friend die right here." Something wet hit the remains of his cheek, but he's too far gone to notice, barely more than dust now. Specks of gray on and endless sea of gold. More beautiful than he can imagine.

He doesn't feel alone any longer.

* * *

 _And I built a home,  
For you.  
For me._

 _Until it disappeared,  
From me.  
From you._

 _And now, it's time to leave and turn to dust._

* * *

 **Thank you for reading my story.**

 **For all those people complaining that they wanted to know how Sans feels about all this, let me just say the year isn't quite over yet ;)**

 **Tumblr: sharada-n**


	6. Grief

**Final chapter -  
**

* * *

 _-Grief never ends. It just changes. Grief is not a sign of weakness or a lack of faith...-_

* * *

It's Frisk who tells him, 3 days after Papyrus died.

Sans hasn't left his room the entire time, hasn't opened the curtains or turned on the lights or even got out of bed to stretch his legs. He has just been lying there feeling miserable.

And if it were up to him, that's all he would be doing until eventually falling down.

But then Frisk comes by and tells him.

"Papyrus knew."

He cries and yells and it is like a torrent, a flood. 3 days of being eerily calm and empty now accumulating in a storm of rage directed at the wrong person.

Because the person who it should be directed at isn't here. He's dead.

He grabs the tray of food Toriel brought him, hoping in vain that he would at least feed himself, and throws it against the wall above Frisk's head, relishing in the sound of glass shattering. It's a fucking mess and he can't help but have that thought cross his mind -Papyrus hates it when I make a mess- but then he remembers Papyrus isn't here, he's dead and gone forever and there's nothing he can do about it.

Frisk closes the door behind them softly, Sans is still in bed.

His plans for the future haven't changed with this revelation. They have only reinforced themselves.

* * *

A week after the night his brother left, a sound wakes him. Sans rolls around and pulls a pillow over his head, trying to drown out the incessant beeping.

He wants to be able to just die in peace, thank you very much.

But the noise won't let up and lying in a stupor of depression isn't all that fun if you can't do so in complete silence, so eventually he has little choice but to throw of the blankets and look for his phone.

He finds it in the back of his closet, God only knows how it got there, and he fumbles with the keys to turn off the alarm, barely realizing he never in his life set one.

He stares at it, wondering who would rig his phone like that, when his eyes catch the message. 1 missed call.

Sans wouldn't think twice about it, if it weren't for the name of the caller.

His hands shake as he pushes the buttons, hearing his brother's voice feels like it breaks his soul into a thousand pieces.

Never has anything been more painful.

"Sans. I'm sorry." And of course he would open with that, of course he fucking would.

This echo of Papyrus goes on to explain why, ample words that just fall on deaf men's ears. All Sans can hear is how much he failed as a brother.

"I don't want this to defeat you, Sans. I don't want you to lay in bed and let the rest of life pass you by. It's been a week, so you've sulked enough." That voice says, a familiar tone of patience. "You need to start living again now. For me, for the life I didn't have. I _need_ you to do this for me, ok? Oh, and by the way, the alarm will go off every single day at 7 AM sharp, just to be sure you don't sleep your life away either."

He can't help and laugh at that, just a little bit. Papyrus sighs at the other end of the line, there's a pain in his voice that makes Sans ache to hold him. "And don't forget to feed the pet rock. I love you, Sans. Goodbye."

Sans exhales shakily and saves the message. He listens to it twelve more times before falling back asleep to the soothing sound his brother talking.

* * *

There is only spaghetti in the fridge, notes taped to them carefully by Papyrus, telling him when they expire. Sans doesn't read them, just dumps it all in the trash.

He doesn't think he'll be able to eat another bite of pasta, good or bad, in his life.

The grocery list is in his brother's handwriting too, and he folds it up and stuffs it down his pocket. Another little piece of him to hold onto.

Like every day, Toriel comes by, and she's pleasantly surprised to see him up.

"Yeah, Papyrus can be pretty convincing when he wants to." Sans mumbles, ignoring the look that earns him.

He opens a cupboard and takes out the half-empty box of oatmeal.

* * *

It takes two more weeks for him to actually leave the house. Alphys has been keeping up with the bills, has been making sure Sans has electricity and warm water and no angry men demanding he pay his due on the doorsteps.

Some distant voice in his head reminds him to thank her for this, and it sounds exactly like Papyrus too.

He stares at the mailbox that still has his brother's name on it, opening it without thinking. There's a letter inside.

"To Sans." it says, and he nearly breaks out in hysteric laughter.

Inside are two lines of plain text in a distinctive font. "Today, go eat ice cream. Greetings, Papyrus."

Sans does, never able to refuse his brother anything, sitting on that exact same bench they had once as he eats it. Thinking back to that day, he remembers to zip up his hoodie as he's leaving.

* * *

"Today, buy something you don't need. Greetings, Papyrus."

It's hard, walking down the same roads they used to walk down together, but now alone. Most people don't spare him a second glance, the presence of monsters in their midst now as normal to them as a rainy day.

But just a few people do give him a curious glance, and Sans has to stop himself from making a joke to the empty space next to him.

He buys a miniature car with black and red stripes, because he knows Papyrus would have loved it, and then purposely forgets it on the bus ride home.

He hopes that whomever finds it makes good use of it.

* * *

On what should have been his brother's birthday, he stays in. He locks the door and doesn't open it even when the others come knocking.

Undyne, never one to take no for an answer, breaks it down instead.

They sit around the table and drink tea that tastes like crap and let the pie Toriel made grow cold without touching it.

"We miss him too, you know?" Undyne says and Sans pretends like he cares.

* * *

"Today, go see that rocket. Greetings, Papyrus."

He thinks about inviting somebody, going with Frisk or Alphys maybe, but in the end he goes alone.

Going with anyone else would only serve to taint the memories he cherishes most right now. All the things they did, that Sans can now look back on as if they were happy times.

As if they weren't lying to each other. As if it wasn't all they ever did.

He goes alone, closes his eyes from time to time and pretends Papyrus is there with him.

The rocket is probably the best thing he has ever laid eyes on.

* * *

He knows it will be the final letter as soon as he reads it. He doesn't know if he's ready, but then again, maybe Papyrus knows him better than he knows himself.

He listens to the message one last time before deleting it. Listens very closely to Papyrus telling him he loves him.

Then he collects all the notes and burns them, keeping only the last one. He lays it under his pillow, to serve as a reminder from time to time.

"Today, let me go. Greetings, Papyrus."

* * *

 _\- ...Instead, Grief is the price of love. -_


End file.
